


just like gold

by becauseleeds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Also romantic Zouis bear w me, Angst, High School AU, Just a bit I swear, Kissing, M/M, Pining, V mild kissing mentions of a half hard cock, idk what to tag this i suck, theyre just starting out just you wait
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becauseleeds/pseuds/becauseleeds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is in love and kind of hates not being loved back and Harry’s got a heart too big for his own good</p>
<p>Or the one where they're sort of american except for exchange student Harry and Louis likes to pine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just like gold

**Author's Note:**

> hiiii i started writing this last summer and i've rediscovered my love for it. there will be 3 parts, the other two are wip so. cheer me on.  
> again, comments/kudos would be lovely and find me on twitter: @goodlittleharry

Louis knew he liked boys from the time he was twelve, when Stacy Holland asked him to the seventh/eighth grade dance and he wasn’t excited or interested at all because Stacy smelled of cherries and soap and not like sweat and pencil shavings. He shrugged and muttered a ‘sure’ before galloping off next to Zayn, his partner in crime. Louis also knew, from the ripe age of twelve, that he wanted to hold and kiss Zayn the way his dad held and kissed his mom. And for a long time, it was ok. Zayn hugged him back and smirked when Lou said something funny, pretty brown eyes disappearing behind wrinkled cheeks and shiny, fresh eyelids. Louis loved Zayn, whole-heartedly and gloriously and genuinely because when you’re twelve can you really love any other way? Zayn would always tell Louis how pretty he was, with soft blue eyes and nice fast footballer legs, but somehow Louis knew it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t meant to be as giving as his own compliments, when he told his best friend that his laugh sounded like heaven and his hair smelt just the right amount of sweet and everything he did was just so kind that it made young Louis burst with love.

His favorite part was the sleepovers because he could whisper all his secrets into the dark, letting them flutter and fade into nothing as Zayn slept next to him, the gentleness of his best friend’s breathing being the only challenging sound. They made promises to never leave the other behind when high school came around and for the most part, they hadn’t. Until junior year rolled around and Louis grew tired of giving without getting.

+

  
The monotonous and loud ticking of his clock notifies Louis that it is, indeed, 7:30 in the a.m. and he needs to get his ass out of bed. Lazily lifting his head off of his too flat pillow, he frowns at the pixilated numbers on his nightstand and smacks the ‘off’ button before dragging himself into the bathroom, blowing a kiss to his Spice Girls poster, morning rituals at their finest.

The shower’s too cold for Lou’s taste but he can’t blame anyone but, well, basically his whole fucking family of six for feeling the need to wake up at the crack of fucking dawn to shower for 45 minutes straight _each_ , leaving him to constantly fight a cold when he’s forced to bathe in 20 degree water every morning. He wraps himself in a towel and ducks back into his room where he pulls his phone out from under his pillow, greeted by two texts. One from “zen” and another from “madre” so he opens the former and chuckles when he sees that Zayn sent him a selfie with his face caked with make up. To be honest, Louis isn't sure whether he added mascara or not, his friend's eyelashes look that great everyday. There's a caption of, 'new year, same fabulous me."

Contemplating a response worthy of Zayn’s standards, Louis decides to read the text from his mom, sent almost an hour ago, and Jesus freaking Christ does his family like to get a move on earlier than the sun. “Oatmeal or cereal for breakfast, had to run into the office for emergency. Have a good day back at school, see u tonight” He makes a choking sound at the mention of stale oatmeal and cereal they bought two months ago but texts a simple confirmation then places his phone into the speakers, blasting The Cribs “Glitter Like Gold” and dressing for school.

At 8:17 promptly, Zayn’s black ‘97 Jetta pulls up in front of Louis’s house and honks not one or two but, wait for it, _seven_ times, even when Lou was settled into his seat after three. “You’re a prick, oh my god. Stop honking,” he playfully shoves his best friend before reaching for the radio dial, determined to change Zayn’s smooth and sensual indie noises he calls music.

“Tut, tut, tut” he replies, swatting away Louis’s hand, “I’m sorry but is this your car? Did you beg your mommy dearest to buy you this heap of shit? Have you experienced the pain that is pretending to enjoy knitting clubs and book talk and Michael’s craft store free picture frame making workshops, in order to get this black magic? No, I didn’t think so, Lovely. Now let me listen to Full Hearts or you’re walking to school, my precious.”

“Fucking hell, Zayn, this is torture," he whines into Zayn's forearm nipping sharply, "like grade A torture.” Louis rolls his eyes dramatically and it actually hurt his head to do so but the laugh that escaped Zayn without shame made it all worth it.

“Now, now Lovely, be rest assured that that’s all this is. Torture. You won’t die anytime soon.” He smirks at his friend and pats his cheek affectionately, splaying his fingers across the soft skin of Louis’s face and Lou prays that it’s the heat radiating off his friend’s hand that’s making his cheek warm. But Zayn doesn’t notice and turns his attention to his front, pulling off the curb and making his way to school. It’s then that Louis notices that Zayn removed the make up.  
"What happened to the glamour shots, wheres the make up?"

Zayn sighs like it actually pains him to admit that his mom yelled at him for using the expensive eye shadow, "She doesn't understand.That color is the only one that matches my eyes and compliments my cheekbones." They ride the rest of the way to school nudging each other fighting over the radio dial, Louis constantly biting the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling so hard.

  
+

  
Day one of junior year was probably one of the best high school days Louis’s had, if he does say so himself. Periods one to four were uneventful, really, except for the fact that an Italian exchange student by the name of Harry is in every single one of them and he happens to look like a mother fucking god.

So Louis introduces himself, smiles politely and shakes his hand and definitely isn’t taken aback when Harry asks, uncomfortably loudly, if Louis likes boys. Normally this would worry himbecause he doesn’t really think he’s obvious about it all.

Sure, he hasn’t had anything close to a girlfriend since the whole Stacy thing and ok maybe a few people have brought it to his attention when he stares at a boy a little too long or let’s his hand linger on Mr. Sanders waist when leaving on the last day of school freshman year but no one’s speculated much, let alone flat out asked him if he was gay. So, to say the least, this was totally unexpected.

“Excuse me?” Louis stutters a bit and quickly glances around to make sure no one else is listening. It’s second period and art work shop isn’t a challenging class, like, at all, so he isn’t really worried about getting in trouble but the majority of the school’s gossiping happens here so to have someone over hear would probably destroy him.

Harry only blinks his big green eyes, which are quite pretty, if Louis allows himself to think about it. In fact, everything about Harry is just pretty. His hair is a dark, dark brown, thick with curls and his lips are heart shaped with a nice shade of pink to them, freckles near his mouth and a disgustingly beautiful habit of licking his lips. Louis likes him.  
Sighing, he replies, “Um, yeah, I guess I do.” and bites his lip self consciously.

The Italian boy only nods knowingly, as if the answer was for reassurance, not revealing. “Mm” he hums and takes Lou’s hand and leads him to the closet where art supplies are neatly organized in rows and columns all across the small room. Harry fits nicely between Louis’s arms and his own hands slot into the space by Harry’s shoulders and oh-

  
Yes. How about, _fuck yes._

Now Louis’s been pretty honest with himself when it came to his sexuality, but to actually have a flawless Italian boy panting a little out of breath because you’re making out in an art closet isn’t real enough for you, he really doesn’t fucking know what is.

And it’s like, he loves Zayn, he really does. His best friend and really his only companion that’s stuck around for more than a few months who he loves more than like, air, but that’s just the problem, his best friend. And to know that he’s so very straight doesn’t ease the pain. But a foreign boy with legs that go on for miles, (super hot, the way he towers over Louis and makes him feel uneasy,) well, that makes things easier to cope with.

  
+

  
“You’re not even listening to me, Lovely. And – seriously, who’re you texting, I’M. RIGHT. HERE.” Zayn, clearly annoyed, tugs at the phone between Louis’s fingers and huffs when his friend takes the phone far out of his reach. They’re sprawled across Zayn’s living room floor, an abandoned game of monopoly sitting pathetically between their two bodies.

“Aw, is my Zaynie getting jealous?” there’s no heat behind his words, in fact, Louis hasn’t looked away from his screen, too preoccupied with replying to a text from Harry, finalizing dinner plans at a restaurant two blocks from where the two boys currently sat.

“Dude, I think Harry’s gay for you.” Zayn says, matter-of-factly. Louis only shrugs, internally deciding to pick up this sort of conversation another day, when he’s mentally prepared for the path it’ll take.

“Yeah, maybe he is. So?” This time Zayn manages to swat the phone out of Louis’s hands and straddles his waist, pinning his limp arms above his head and looking him straight in the eye.

“If he replaces me I’ll shove tortellini up his butthole and make you scoop it out with your tongue.”

"Is that supposed to be a threat? Must admit I'm a but disappointed in you. Zayn. Usually your threats are more...nasty? I've heard you say some pretty disgusting things, man."

Zayn blinks twice, unamused, before unstraddling him and walking to the kitchen for a diet coke. If there's one thing a pacifist like Zayn will fight for, its diet coke. Maybe hairspray?

“No thanks, I’m not thirsty. Your hospitality never fails to astound me.” Louis jokes as he checks the time on his phone, letting him know he ought to get home and dress before meeting with Harry.

Zayn scoffs, “fuck that, you leaving so soon? Whyyyyyy?” he groans and pouts and Louis feels this burning sensation in his heart that screams, _‘ok, stay, forget Harry and his killer legs and perfect mouth. Zayn wants you to stay, so stay.’_ But then he remembers, _‘just kidding, he doesn't want you’_ and proceeds to gather his things.

“Sorry Zaynie, I’ve got to run. I’ll text you in the morning, yeah?” He presses a fond kiss to Zayn’s head and walks out the door and as it shuts he hears the shout of, “I would’ve loved an invitation! Make sure he knows you’re mine!”  
And for a split second, Louis wishes his friend’s words rang just a notch truer.

  
+

  
Louis figures it’s counterproductive to get ready at his own house, considering the short amount of time before his date, instead of having brought his things to Zayn’s place, which is a substantial distance closer to the restaurant.

He stands in the cool space of his shower, allowing the chilled water to dampen his hair before bouncing out and toweling off. He comes to a standstill once facing his closest because what do you wear to a date with hot Italian exchange students. Louis curses under his breath about how someone ought to write an entire handbook to dictate the way he fixes the mess that is his life while sliding on a pair of white jeans and a baby blue sweater. He rolls up the sleeves a bit before pouting at his reflection, not completely satisfied because of his lack of first date etiquette but not bothered enough to search his closest for something more suitable. He shakes his head and sweeps a fringe out of his eyes before attacking it with sculpting wax and settling it just right. He shrugs on a his jacket before pocketing his keys and phone, slipping a few stolen twenty dollar bills from his mom into his back pocket, and begins his walk to the restaurant.

Louis has lived in this neighborhood for a solid six years, and not once has he found the need to spend 25+ dollars per person at Le Lueur Café about eight blocks away from his house. At least not until Harry’s large hands had tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck as he mewled delicious noises while Louis sucked on his bottom lip during art class. So he’s reconsidered, sue him. He’s shuffling his feet awkwardly when Harry appears; skin tight tshirt the color of a fresh bruise clinging to his nice little body, skinny black jeggings the hug the curve of his legs obscenely and Louis cannot be held responsible for the inhuman-like noise that never made it passed his throat because Harry notices him.

He smiles wide as he approaches Louis and asks if there’s a long wait. Louis barely hears him over the obnoxiously loud play of violins and cellos and other faux-French sounds.

“Erm, I think about fifteen minutes, they said?” He shouldn’t be this nervous, all they’re doing is eating dinner but. You don’t understand. This is the first time Louis’s done anything like this. And not even with a boy, but like, ever. This is a proper date, and although the conventional thing is to hook up after the date, which clearly wasn’t the case for them, he’s still feeling like this is all some ridiculous, whimsical and fantastic dream. Any second now the violins are going to turn into buzzing and beeping and knocking and he’ll be lying in bed with the idea of Harry draped over him like a blanket he’s routinely wrapped up in. But four point three seconds pass and he doesn’t wake up and Louis decides that jesus the messiah has had mercy on his soul and no, this isn’t a dream.

Harry only sighs contently and relaxes his shoulders, looking around the lounge area where the two boys wait for a table. Louis smirks at him, cocking his head to admire just how confusing the Italian boy is. Let’s just get this out of the way, Harry’s sexy as fuck. But he’s got this adorable tint in his eyes and the pout on his lips is so fragile and cute and how does he do that. How is he so irresistible and cautionary and forbidden and inviting all at the same time? Louis should be trying to figure that out, he seriously should because this could get ugly. He's going to get hurt and its going to burn for ages but.

But he doesn’t have time to worry much because Harry’s fingers are intertwined with his as they wait on a bench by the door, the boy swaying side to side in a mock entrancement of the slow song playing. It’s cute shit like that that has Lou leaning in to press his lips to the soft shell of Harry’s ear and whispering stupid nothings about _how fucking pretty_ he looks and how happy he is that they’re doing this.

And although the lights are dim and Louis still has his face practically buried into the other boy’s hair, he can still see the distinct shade of rose Harry’s cheeks have taken suit to and even more so, can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Louis decides he likes Harry. He’s no Zayn, with crinkly smiles and beautiful laughs but he’s Harry with soft giggles, big eyes and an endearing quality to him that has Louis' heart racing.

Louis orders something he doesn’t quite know how to pronounce and Harry does the same. The two keep their finger tips touching across their plates and Harry’s crossed legs at the ankles sometimes reach out to rub against Louis’s slugged and spread limbs underneath the table. From a distance, they’re complete opposites. Harry loves clothes and trends and nightlife and socializing. Louis loves sleep and books and sports and food, sometimes he can love people. Harry is all colors and alive, pink dusted cheeks and bright eyed, freshly bathed and prettied up. You’re lucky if Louis decides to use soap in the shower, and we’ll leave it at that.

  
But when you zoom in on the little things like the fact that neither can sleep without covers on or how they each need at least one light on throughout the hours of the night, the way each eat left handed for no particular reason other than they find it amusing, you can see those faint similarities that have each boy’s hand squeezing just that much harder, breathing just a bit faster. Louis really likes the way Harry’s accent is starting to sound less and less like a different dialect and more and more like something safe.

  
They talk about Harry’s family back at home, how his mom is actually from the states and met his dad on a cruise; how they settled in Italy and he likes it here better. He mentions an old boyfriend in Florence, where he hopes to study maybe. Louis’ heart doesn’t fall at that, it _doesn’t_. Half way through the main course, Louis wishes he spoke Italian, considers picking up a few courses next year.

  
By the time dessert rolls around, the two are pink faced and their mouths are raw from stifling laughs by biting down on their lips. They share French vanilla ice cream on top of two rolled up crepes and hazel spread. Louis chokes on some ice cream during one of Harry’s tales of life back in Italy, the last three stories having included someone in the nude, when the other boy suddenly lifts a finger to the corner of Louis’s mouth. He swipes a splatter of the hazel spread off of his face and as he brings his finger to his mouth, Louis’s eyes go wide. It probably wasn’t as erotic looking as he believes it is, but Louis’s suddenly thankful their on opposite sides of the booth because if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever then damn his soul he doesn’t know what is.

  
He gulps, “What’re you doing tonight – uh, like, after this?” He’s pulling the twenties out of his back pocket and shovels them into the folder where the bill was placed on their table, purposely avoiding Harry’s gaze incase it was glazed with something like, oh, he doesn’t know, rejection? But it’s been just under a minute and Louis might lose it so he peaks up from under his fringe to see Harry tilting his head to the side, a mischievous grin toying with his lips as he licks ice cream off his spoon and he whispers a soft, “You tell me,”

+

  
So after Harry calls his housing family to let them know where he's staying they start their way to Louis'. Harry's going to sleep over and it’s probably going to be the best night ever, or at least, definitely in Louis' top three. They take their time walking home, fingers brushing every few feet and Louis can’t stop smiling at the ground.

They’re silent for the majority of the time, but it’s a comfortable silence and the sound of Harry’s even breathing is enough. His mom is dismissive about the whole thing, which Louis would later be rather annoyed with because rude, and shoos them away with one hand as they interrupted her soap opera. Louis shrugs and leads him to his bedroom, suddenly self conscious because of the mess. _Italians aren’t messy, are they?_

He opens the door and gestures for his guest to step in first, and he does. He toes off his shoes and places his expensive italian jacket on Louis’s desk nonchalantly, eyes curious and fingers exploring. Louis smiles at the coat, at how domicile it looks, he could get use to having Harry’s things on his desk and shoes tucked away in the corner of his room, seems nice, he thinks. Harry runs his fingers along his dresser and let’s them rest not too firmly on the footing of his bed.

“Do you have anything for me to – erm – wear or borrow? For tonight? I’ll return it tomorrow…” He’s embarrassed now and it’s the cutest fucking thing so Louis’ chuckling while scampering through all of his t-shirts to find a Modest Mouse t shirt, tossing it gently in the other boy’s direction.

“Keep it,” there’s a smile in his voice and as he walks towards the door to let Harry change, he stops in his tracks to find the boy standing with his back facing him, barricading his way out.

He lifts his arms above his head, taking off his shirt in exchange for Louis’ and Louis freezes at the flex of tanned muscle and stretch of skin. He thinks he’s choking, and coughs while switching into his own shirt.

When he faces Harry again, the boy is lying unashamed across his bed and toying with a string of fabric coming loose from the sheets. The shirt stops short of the elastic of his briefs (Harry’s torso is also so painfully long and toned) (also Louis' isn't and the difference in size has Louis' palms sweating) and the thin line of tanned skin is so tantalizing Louis wants to suck a bruise so dark there it’ll stay long enough to see the Italian sun when Harry leaves in a few months. He lets out a breathy sigh and climbs in next to him, nudging his shoulder with his nose and turning on the t.v.

There’s mindless chatter about favorite shows and hated commercials and before they know it, it’s two in the morning and their eyes droop.  
He doesn’t know how it happened, like, at all. But one second there’s a good six inches between them and the next Harry is resting his head on Lou’s shoulder and every piece of their sides are lined up. Louis’s distractedly rubbing circles with his hand into Harry’s shoulder and Harry’s sighing satisfactorily into Lou’s neck.

“I-um, I’d really like to, ah.” He doesn’t know why he’s asking, his best bet would be just to do but it’s still so new that he rather not fuck it over, so Louis tries and actually succeeds this time, “Harry, can I – would it be okay if I kissed you, right now?” His hearts racing faster than the speed of Zayn’s car as it raced down the main street of their town that one time he heard a rumor that two thirds of Boyz II Men was at the local seven-eleven, so his muscles release their tension as Harry lifts himself onto one elbow and mutters an, “I’d love that” into Louis’s lips.

  
+

  
So they’re kissing and it’s awesome until Louis rests his hand underneath Harry’s knee and hooks his leg around his own waist because Harry then straddles him and Louis doesn’t know what to do from here. There’s a distinctly half hard cock pressing into his hip but that’s uncharted waters, he doesn’t know what exactly to _do_ with that.

They’re kissing and licking and touching the skin on chests and arms and hips and Louis really likes it all, he likes it a lot but still doesn’t understand what else to do, he wants to give more, to make his, um, whatever Harry is to him, feel good. He just doesn’t know how, not yet, so he settles for licking into his mouth and savoring the noises made by the gorgeous boy above him, stifled by his own lips. His hands are firm on the other boy’s waist and he’s scratching a bit at the dimples in his back.

After what feels like hours of kissing, Harry breaks away to breathe and smiles contently down at Louis, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, eyes blown and hair askew. It’s the prettiest fucking thing. They kiss again, languid and sweet, too tired to do much else and Harry falls asleep curled into Lou’s side, their fingers intertwined across his stomach.

He places a kiss on the soft curly hair resting on his shoulder before letting his eyes fall shut, totally content with his night. Louis doesn’t even hear the vibrations coming from his phone on the nightstand, unwilling to give up and demanding attention Lou just won’t give it. Had he looked, he would’ve seen flashes of ‘zen'’ across the screen, numerous times, begging for a reply that won’t come. Because Louis was just too tired of always giving and never getting, at least until Harry placed a wet peck over his heart and settled back down to rest.

 


End file.
